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 The sea!—wild fancy! Many a mile Of changeful Nature's frown and smile Ere stand we on the shore. And, yet! that murmur, hoarse and deep, None save the ocean-surges keep? It is—"the cradles' roar!"

Onward! we pass the grassy hill, Around the base the waters still Shimmer in golden foam; O wanderer of the voiceless wild, Of this far southern land the child, How changed thy quiet home!

For, close as bees in countless hive, Like emmet hosts that earnest strive, Swarmed, toiled, a vast, strange crowd: Haggard each worker's features seem, Bright, fever-bright, each eye's wild gleam, Nor cry, nor accent loud.

But each man dug, or rocked, or bore, As if salvation with the ore Of the mine-monarch lay. Gold strung each arm to giant might, Gold flashed before each aching sight, Gold turned the night to day.

Where Eblis reigns o'er boundless gloom, And, in his halls of endless doom Lost souls for ever roam, They wander (says the Eastern tale), Nor ever startles moan or wail Despair's eternal home.